Thereafter
by hotpink
Summary: Archer deals with T'Pol after the events of Stigma, and both of them must confront the multitude of ways in which they have changed over the past two years. Complete story.


Title: Thereafter  
Author: hotpink  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Archer/T'Pol  
Summary: Archer deals with T'Pol after the events of Stigma, and both of them must confront the multitude of ways in which they have changed over the past two years.  
Archive: Anywhere, with headers and author name attached.  
Disclaimer: Star Trek and associated characters belong to Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.  


Author's note: This is the tame version. If you are of legal age and like descriptive PWPs, please visit my web site for the unedited version of the story.

This story was written prior to _The Expanse_ and thus disregards the actions of the Vulcans within that episode.

*****

Jonathan Archer stood outside the door to T'Pol's quarters, hesitant about pressing the door chime. After the emotional roller coaster of the past several days, he could understand why she might want to be alone. But a worry continued to nag at him, as it had for most of the evening--what if she, with her Vulcan pride, refused to seek help when she needed it? They might not call it pride, given that pride itself was an emotion, but that was the only description he had for whatever drove her in times like these.

A couple of years ago, if anyone had told him that there would come a time when he would stand in the corridors of a starship and obsess over the emotional well being of a Vulcan, he would have thought it a joke. But many things had changed in the past two years.

He knew that this was not the first time she would have struggled with overwhelming, dark emotions. Last time, in what he could only call desperation, the monks of P'Jem had suppressed her memories of the event. This time, that type of extreme escape was not an option. The circumstances were too large, too important to her overall welfare. She was suffering from a currently incurable disease that outcast her from her culture, and if high command didn't know about it yet, they certainly would quite soon.

While his actions might have saved her position on Enterprise, his gut suggested that there was no way to save her position within Vulcan society. The Vulcans had shown themselves to be too small-minded, too inflexible about the subject. While the opinions of a few might be changed through personal interaction and an understanding of how she was infected, he understood the power and insidious nature of widespread prejudice.

That was what concerned him. One thing he had always recognized in T'Pol was her strong connection to her culture. Yes, she had been encouraged to think beyond the limitations that her heritage put upon her, but she was, to the core, Vulcan. Now it seemed that they didn't want to acknowledge that any longer.

He sighed, and finally rang the chime. Neither of them needed the rumors that could erupt if the wrong crew members saw him staring at her door.

He had lingered in the mess hall for several hours, hoping that she would appear for dinner, so that they could talk in a more neutral environment. But she had never came to eat.

The memory of her features during the events of the past few days haunted him. He had never seen her force such faked control--at least when she had been upset during their capture of Menos, she had reacted to and admitted her emotions, then managed to balance herself. In the presence of the Vulcans, she had reacted as though she was simply denying her upset, her outrage. He believed that was far more dangerous.

No matter how vehemently she might deny it, he had seen both shame and anger hiding beneath that faked control. And depression, their far more dangerous sibling, had lingered in her eyes as they both contemplated the stars from his ready room earlier today. She had not been staring outwards as they silently stood together, but inwards.

The door to her quarters slide open, and she stood in front of him, her shoulders bowed beneath Vulcan robes. Her eyes looked weary, but she greeted him in a normal tone. "Captain?"

"Sub-commander. I'm not interrupting you?" She shook her head slightly, a characteristic more human than Vulcan. "May I come in?"

She stepped gracefully backwards, allowing him to enter without invading her personal space. Given the number of times over the past year when he had stood close by her, or touched her in public, he found the formality that could still exist between the two of them in private somewhat ironic. He normally refused to think about the implications.

Her quarters were lit by the flickering flames of several candles. A faint muskiness hung in the air, giving him an odd sense of remoteness. Despite its harsh StarFleet lines, the room barely felt like quarters on a starship. Instead, the room could have been anywhere, the somber retreat of a private person.

She stood by her desk, regarding him steadily. Although he hoped for a long conversation, hoped that they could actually talk about the events of the past couple of days without her quickly retreating into that shell which rejected any attempt to reach out, he remained standing as well.

"Have you contacted high command about Dr. Yuris?" He didn't want to say what had been implied in her decision to involve herself with Yuris's situation. That she'd be making high command aware of her own infection.

"Yes."

"What did they say?" He asked.

"That he fell under the rules and regulations of the Physician's Council, and that they could not interfere with the proceedings, nor affect the outcome."

A reaction that he suspected they had both anticipated. "And your situation?"

"I am to remain in my current position on Enterprise." He voice dropped in tone by a fraction, and he knew that wasn't the full story.

"And?"

She turned away from him, facing the port and the stars it framed. "It is easier to sympathize when the object of your sympathy is remote."

He processed her statement for a few seconds, staring at her back. "So, they'd actually prefer that you'd remain on Enterprise. Indefinitely."

"That was the opinion conveyed by the staff member I spoke with."

Although it was a reaction that he had thought about earlier, the reality still made him want to track down certain members of high command and shake them. To deny someone their home and culture, based on a disease that she had no control over, only showed how deeply engrained the prejudice was in Vulcan society. Rather than deal with the prejudice in their midst, they chose to exclude the one who challenged it. He found that both illogical and incredibly human.

"Their decision is final?"

He could have sworn that she shrugged before she replied. "It was not a decision, simply a suggestion."

"Is there much of a difference between decision and suggestion, under these circumstances?"

"The suggestion was made because it was easier for all concerned. Not only will it allow high command to avoid dealing with Pa'nar Syndrome within their direct ranks, but I will not have to deal with those who do not distinguish between melders, and others. I do not believe that I will find the same prejudice on Enterprise that I would have to deal with on Vulcan.

"It is the logical course of action."

T'Pol sounded calm, like she had already accepted this decision and its logical extensions. She also sounded like they were discussing a decision far less important than one that would create an even deeper division between herself and her culture. He couldn't claim to understand what she was feeling right now. At least he had come to understand what had driven her to keep it secret for over a year--he had found the reactions of the Vulcans to be completely out of character, and inappropriate.

He looked at T'Pol, standing with her back towards him, wrapped tightly in her cloak of formalism and isolation, and felt grief for her. But he also recognized that her current attitude was an attempt to further isolate herself, to protect herself from the possibly anyone discovering her upset and emotional. Her back was far easier to control than her face.

Jonathan strode forward, and pulled her around to face him. She resisted slightly at first, then turned to face him, with an apparent attempt to pull her face and her eyes back under her emotionless mask. But either her attempt was half-hearted, or he had learned her too well to be fooled by the mask any longer. "Just because it's logical doesn't mean that it can't hurt you. I am sure that there are many Vulcans who believe that acting on their prejudice against melders to be a completely logical way in which to keep an undesired minority under control."

"It is logical. That does not mean it is moral. But morality is based on emotion, and must be outweighed by logic." She was crumbling before him, her eyes dark and troubled.

"The same type of emotion that almost destroyed you after you killed Jossen?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Seems like it's something that Vulcans refuse to deal with, not simply because it's emotional, but because it's difficult. It's easier to ignore the moral choice, and take the logical one. Logic used as an escape, rather than a cure."

"Humans do not do much better!" T'Pol unexpectedly lashed back at him, pulling her arm out of his grasp and stepping backwards.

"I was not claiming that we do." Jonathan watched her closely, but decided that he shouldn't try to touch her again, not at the moment. She seemed balanced on a dangerous edge, unable to find any sort of middle ground. "Morality is hard for us, probably just as hard as it is for Vulcans."

T'Pol began pacing, and Jonathan watched in worry. For close to a minute, she didn't say anything, but simply walked back and forth the few steps between one end of the room and the other. Then, with her face set in an odd expression that he could not completely interpret, she turned back to him.

"As a Vulcan, I was taught these rigid structures, lessons which should help me seek logical perfection. These structures have been developed and refined since the time of Surak, over three thousand years of trial and error. Our education has the weight of time and tradition behind it.

"My experiences here have forced me to reconsider what I was taught. Working side-by- side with humans, encountering Tavin and his group as they worked for a different understanding of what Surak may have meant, has forced me to realize that these rigid structures violate basic ideals that Surak proposed. I may be repulsed by what Tavin-- and especially Tolaris--have done. Yet, they are deeply exploring what Surak meant, the different paths that we might take towards a common end, at a time when investigation of those paths has become taboo on Vulcan. Their spirit, and yours too, may more true to the ideals of Surak than what High Command represents. Anything taken to an extreme and impressed upon people without acknowledging the existence of and possible values of alternatives grows into something that promotes all the conditions that Surak spoke against. Then what am I following?

"My decision to remain aboard Enterprise, to participate as fully as I could within a human mission to explore space, has forced me to confront the hypocrisy within my own culture. I cannot see anything of good within it. You have forced me to this acknowledgement, and I, in moments of weakness, wish I was as ignorant as I was two years ago."

She paused, and looked at him with what he could only describe as a expression of hopelessness. "But what you offer, what humans are, is often not much better. There is nothing to turn to."

He was struck by the depth of her admission. Obviously, she had spent a lot of time debating these issues with herself, without making anyone else aware of the depth of her disturbance. But he didn't know what he could offer her in return. Her analysis of humans was pretty dead-on--what did they have to offer to someone seeking the kind of stability that she desired?

"We try to do the best we can." He said, quietly.

"I know that." She responded. She stopped pacing and turned back towards him.

"I'm not sure how the rest of the crew feels, but I can say that I'll do the best I can to support you, T'Pol. On some level, this crew has become a community, a family. It's a family that I think you've become a welcome part of. It might not be your image of the perfect family, but I think that it's quite happy to accept you, if you let it."

He felt that his statement had been weak, but didn't know what more to say. She regarded him steadily for a moment, then advanced on him. "You really mean that," she stated.

"Yes."

"It is much more than my own people are willing to offer." He could see gratitude in her eyes, and felt guilty. It seemed like so little to offer her, but it meant more to her than he expected.

"We're here for you, you know."

"I am coming to understand that. Along with many other things."

She was standing in his personal space, closer even than she came in typical situations, and along with his conflicting emotions, another desire began to pester him. He attempted to dismiss it, to tell his body that what it desired was completely inappropriate under the circumstances, but it stubbornly refused to listen. He realized that he might need to make a quick escape, but didn't know whether he'd helped T'Pol stabilize herself to a point where he'd be willing to leave her alone.

"T'Pol ... " he began, raising his hand to touch her shoulder.

She moved even closer, allowing barely centimeters to separate their two bodies. He tried to move back a discrete step, but she followed.

"Your breathing rate has increased, and your palm is sweaty," she observed. "Is there something wrong?"

Jonathan was embarrassed that she could so easily discern his body's changes. "Nothing that is important."

"Or something that is very important."

He decided that a little candor was in order. "We've already discussed this, and I think that you've made your feelings on the matter clear. They happen to match mine, and regulations."

"The situation was different then, and perhaps there was more involved than regulations. Perhaps some fear, some prejudice ... " She trailed off.

"But there are regulations, and perception, and a whole lot of other things."

"Or, if you look at it from another angle, just two bodies, and two sets of desires."

Her statement shocked him. To admit to desires? She was in a state he had never seen before.

"Desires? T'Pol ..."

"Desires. To want, to need--we spend our lives being told that those are the greatest weakness, those are the emotions to be avoided at all costs. Maybe that's part of what's wrong. Desires connect, desires give some reason to life."

"But you should not act on desires that will cause later regrets."

"I do not think that I will regret whatever occurs."

She had moved close enough that her breasts were pressed against his chest, and his arms came up involuntarily to embrace her. "I want this." He admitted.

"I want this, as well," she responded.

"I don't want to take advantage of you."

"You are not taking advantage of me. If you were attempting to take advantage of me, I could throw you across the room."

Her limited definition of advantage, and her purely practical response, caused him to almost laugh aloud. "Taking advantage of you emotionally. The past few days would have been extremely stressful for a human, and they have obviously affected you."

"If I allow myself to do something I have wanted for quite a while, you are not taking advantage of me, emotionally or otherwise."

His entire body had begun to respond to her closeness, to the faint musky odor that filled his nostrils. His hands drifted down her back, gently tracing the outline of her ass, and he realized that he was almost lost.

"Are you going to enjoy this?" He asked, quietly.

"Our sexual organs are quite similar to yours. I can enjoy sexual activity, if I allow myself to."

"Are you going to allow yourself to enjoy it?"

She hesitated, then said quietly "Yes."

He brought his hands up to cup her face, and kissed her. Although she hesitated on the response for a moment, she soon began to kiss him back, and her hands came up to embrace his shoulders. He could feel her uncertainty, and it almost brought him back to reality, but the urgency with which she pushed her body against his overrode practical thought.

He used his thumbs to gently trace her ears--to try to convince himself that this was real, that T'Pol was pressing her lips and her body against him--then allowed his hands to travel down the sides of her neck. His fingers found the top of a zipper and when they hesitated, she breathed "Please ..." against his cheek.

He slowly drew the zipper down, and she moved a fraction of a step back, allowing the heavy cloth to slip off her shoulders. Underneath the Vulcan robe, she still wore the regulation blue tank top and shorts, a fact that he found amusing. She had managed to unfasten his uniform top and he pulled back to slip it off his arms and shoulders, allowing it to join her robe on the floor.

The bare skin of her arms and shoulders burned under his roaming hands, and he looked down at her face, her eyes, seeking permission to go on. They could stop here, stop at this point when they were no more naked to one another than they had been before, with it being nothing more than a slightly embarrassing memory. But she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, and with what appeared to be a very slight smile, pulled her tank top off. He pulled her to him, and he was lost.

*****

Sated and exhausted, he regarded the woman laying beside him, allowing his eyes to travel up and down her form. She looked as he felt.

"Enjoyed that?"

"I did."

"You know, you are absolutely beautiful."

"I have been told that I am aesthetically pleasing to look at, before."

"Don't you agree?"

"I have never had any reason to decide one way or another."

He grinned. "Well, I find you aesthetically pleasing, in many ways."

He was pleased when that statement caused her cheeks to darken, once more revealing the depth of her reactions to him. Teasing her had definitely become easier.

"We both need to sleep," she reminded him.

He sat up, believing her statement to be a gentle dismissal. She laid a hand against his arm, and said quietly, "You are welcome to stay here, if you believe that you will be comfortable."

What that single statement indicated, the degree to which she trusted him, the degree to which tonight had been more than just about comfort, scared him slightly. But he looked down at her, and knew that he couldn't turn her down. He lay back down and pulled the blanket over them both.

She rolled to her other side and spooned herself against his chest. He used one arm to pull her closer, and laid the other on the pillow above her head.

Within moments, her breathing had slowed to a level he presumed was indicative of sleep, and he was briefly jealous of how easily she had fallen asleep. Perhaps all that control Vulcans claimed to have over their bodies and minds had some good aspects. But he quickly realized that he too was exhausted, and followed her into sleep.

*****

Many hours later, he woke and found himself alone in a bed. For a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the events of the night before, but he knew that he wasn't in his own bed and that they had to be true, at least to some degree.

He rolled over onto his side and saw her on the opposite side of the room, sitting in a meditative position. Candles flickered around her, blurring her outline in their light. He tried to sit up quietly, to not rustle the blankets or creak the bed, but she rose, turned and faced him as soon as he moved. "Good morning."

He returned the greeting. "Good morning." He liked what he saw. Instead of the mask covering an upset and angry core, he saw a real peace in her face. He saw the T'Pol he had come to know and admire, the woman who could keep her cool in the most desperate of situations.

She sat on the bed beside him, and regarded him with a steady gaze. "Last night . . ." she began.

"Last night was what it was. That is all it needs to be."

She nodded, a solemn expression on her face. "The complications, for it to be more, are many."

"I agree. That doesn't mean that I don't want it to be more . . . but there's fantasy, and there's reality."

She raised an eyebrow at him, perhaps amused by his wording.

He stood and picked up his clothing from the floor. "I'm going to have to head back to my quarters and change. Will you be at breakfast?"

"I will see you there."

T'Pol also stood, and headed over to blow out the candles.

He watched her for a moment, admiring the way she moved, the way she looked. When she turned her head back to him and gave him a pointed look, he grinned and began dressing. There were difficulties in this choice, too, but he figured that he could deal with them. He only wondered if she could. She had chosen to reveal so much to him last night--her worries, her thoughts, her body. No matter how they tried, what they promised, that would affect their future interactions and relations. How it would affect them--that remained to be seen.


End file.
